


A New Batch of Reading Material

by snugglebatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglebatch/pseuds/snugglebatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t been far off when he had told Sherlock that he was practically a celebrity. According to Harry, this was the kind of thing celebrities had to deal with. She should know. It was her that had sent him that traitorous first link, after all. </p><p>John finds fan fiction about him and Sherlock. The problem is that he can't forget about what he had read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Batch of Reading Material

**Author's Note:**

> In response to this pompt at kink-meme: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=129877510#t129877510
> 
> Not beta'ed or britpicked, if you want to help me do so, message me. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DON'T MAKE ANY MONEY OF THIS AND I DON'T OWN ANYTHING

He hadn’t been far off when he had told Sherlock that he was practically a celebrity. According to Harry, this was the kind of thing celebrities had to deal with. She should know. It was her that had sent him that traitorous first link, after all. 

He’d only mentioned his line to Sherlock briefly in one of his blog posts, but when he checked the blog for comments the next day, he found the link that Harry had left him with. With no explanation except form the rest of the comment (“ _Enjoy ;)_ ”), he had clicked it. The page he was taken to didn’t seem like much at first. A banner at the top that said “Archive of Our Own”, a red line with a search bar and a couple of buttons, and then the main content. The main content which had the header “1 - 20 of 25751 Works in Sherlock Holmes/John Watson”. Oh. 

He wasn’t sure what this whole thing was at first, obviously, but just the fact that there were 25,751 works about Sherlock and him was mildly disturbing. He would have to once again inform Sherlock to be a bit more low key. It didn’t do to have fans as a consulting detective. Filing away the thought for later, he clicked into the first ‘Work’ and started reading. Might as well get some kind of idea what this was. 

 

> _“Crimes could pop up any day and it was not exactly rare that he had to call the hospital and apologize to Sarah for not being able to making it in that day because ’Something came up’. She knew what he meant, of course, having taken part in one of their crime solving that one time, so she never said anything.”_

By the end of the paragraph, John was looking at the page with a somewhat incredulous expression. Alright. Someone was writing about them. About then solving crimes, apparently. Sarah was mentioned. No big deal. Scrolling further down, it seemed that there was another case, but this wasn’t one they had actually solved. Still not quite sure what he was dealing with, John came to the conclusion that someone was making up crimes that the two of them were solving together. Sort of like his blog, just fictional. 

When John went back to the original page, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about this whole thing. It was great that these people were writing and all, but… about the two of them? They were actual people after all. Couldn’t they write their own stories about their own characters? In the end, he shrugged it off, scrolling down the page, looking through the stories. Maybe he could find a funny or maybe even good one that he could show Sherlock. His flatmate would probably find it utterly ridiculous, but it was almost worth doing it just to see those pretentious eyebrows raise into his hairline in surprise. 

With a slight smile on his face, John cradled his cup of tea in one hand and clicked into another story, only to be glad he hadn’t sipped said tea. If he had done so, it would probably have been all over his computer screen as his cheeks heated up and he cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably. This one definitely wasn’t like his blog. 

 

\---

He really just should have clicked out of it immediately when he had gotten that first eyeful, but there was something about this. Something he couldn’t take his eyes from. It was one thing reading about the two of them solving crimes, but this was something very different. They didn’t do this. But the fact that there were stories of them doing this, did that mean that that was what people think they did? John decided to save the questions for later and keep reading. 

 

> _“He was pulled into a demanding kiss, Sherlock’s chest hard against his own and his cock sliding damply at John’s hip. The curve of Sherlock’s arse fit snugly against John’s palm, and when he squeezed gently Sherlock hummed in pleasure against his mouth._
> 
> _A moment later Sherlock was rolling on top of John, grinding their erections together as he reached for lubricant from the drawer of the bedside table.”_

Before long John was squirming slightly in his chair and biting down on his lip to keep from making any sort of sound in reaction to what he was reading. He would have been lying in he claimed to never have considered what could have happened between the two of them, and maybe what he wanted to happen as well, but he would be damned if it was going to ruin what they had now. Maybe it didn’t have sex, but it had stability and companionship and that was enough. He could always find someone to shag outside of that. 

Returning to the story, John was finding it increasingly hard to kep his hand from wandering down between his legs and relieve just a tiny bit of tension. It would certainly be a first, having never rubbed one off to erotic fiction before (hell, he’d never even read erotic fiction before), but that felt like just a bit too much of crossing a line. It had to be, right? It had to be crossing the line, wanking to a story of you and your best friend shagging. Therefore, John kept his hand firmly out of his trousers, although it ended up soon squeezing his thigh instead. And of course, seeing as he happened to be living with the Master of Bad Timing-

“If you are going to spend your day watching pornography, the least you can do is keep to your room,”

Instead of replying, John just wiped his browser history quickly and shut his laptop. Heading to the bathroom and into the shower, he pretended that it wasn’t a head of curly black hair and a lean alabaster body he saw when he finally started touching himself. 

 

\--- 

Looking back, John concluded that it probably hadn’t been a good idea to dive into this in the first place. It was strangely addictive, if he could even call it that. Within a relatively short period of time he had gotten quite well versed in the realms of ‘fanfiction’, as he soon learnt that it was called. All the different terms and expressions, they were there soon enough and he could easily navigate the site that had first opened this up to him. There were still shame, a lot of it, but somehow it seemed easier to ignore after a few times. 

By the fourth or fifth time John indulged in this new pastime, he was also past the point where he tried to ignore the fact that it was always Sherlock he saw when he relieved himself after a good while of reading. There was simply no use denying it. So for once he  brought his hand down to palm himself over his pyjama bottoms, ignoring the initial twinge of guilt that shot through him, and focused on enjoying it. 

In the particular story he was reading, Sherlock was getting fucked rather mercilessly while bent over their kitchen table, and he had to admit that it was doing quite a lot for him. Over the time they had lived together he had managed to collect quite a few mental images of Sherlock’s arse in tight trousers presented to him in that manner, and the visual certainly helped. As he could just about hear Sherlock’s groans of his name as he read, it didn’t take long before his hand had slipped into his bottoms instead and curled around his erection. 

With the imaginary situation provided by what he was reading, it barely took a few more minutes before John’s eyes fell shut and he bit down on his lip to muffle his groan of Sherlock’s name. One thing had been if Sherlock heard him earlier, when it was usually some cry of “Oh god” that escaped him as he came, but when it was Sherlock’s own name it was slightly more risky. Spilling over his hand, John came with an incredibly satisfying image of Sherlock bent over in front of him in min. Sadly, he had no idea of what troubles this would cause him. 

 

\--- 

“No, no, NO!” Sherlock groaned and John could hear him lean in to move around a few pieces on the board spread over Lestrade’s desk. The pieces were supposed to be criminals, possibly murderers, and crime scenes and something else that John didn’t have any interest in catching on to. In fact, he really just wanted to get home and shower and jump into bed. They had been at this all day, trying to solve this case, and John was getting tired. 

Taking a deep breath and forcing his eyes open from where they had just been slipping shut again, John just about choked on that mentioned breath. He could feel himself go bright red and he coughed harshly for a moment to cover up his reaction.  

Sherlock hadn’t turned to look at him, presumably too engrossed in the pieces that he was moving around, which meant that he was still leaning over Lestrade’s desk. Which in turn meant that the pictures from John’s fantasies just a few days ago were coming back to him all too fast. Sherlock had left his coat by the door and the same went for his suit jacket, so there was nothing to obscure the view of that long line from the nape of his neck, down his spine and over the curve of his arse. God, that arse was going to be the death of John one day. 

Sherlock’s icy blue shirt was tucked into his dark trousers, but it was nearly coming up from the way that Sherlock was stretching. With another cough John rose from his chair. Lestrade gave him another curious glance, but he dismissed it.

“Is there really anything more we can do right now, Sherlock? I’m quite keen to just get home and get some sleep. Actually, you should get some of that as well,” John told him, crossing his arms and hoping to god that his partial erection wasn’t too noticeable through his jeans. 

“I suppose I can do the rest at home,” Sherlock admitted, pushing off the table and straightening. Re-tucking his shirt properly, he turned to Lestrade. “Text me if something happens,” he practically ordered, but at least it was more of an afterthought. Lately he had gotten considerably better at actually going with John when not immediately needed at the Yard. It was nice, having someone to go home with, someone to be home with. 

While John mulled over these mostly unbidden thoughts, Sherlock had lifted one foot up onto the chair John had occupied earlier and was leaning over to fix his laces. This presented him to John in mostly the same way as earlier and John decided that it was best to just head for the door.

“I’ll grab us a cab,” he told Sherlock over his shoulder, not for the first time wishing that he had got a coat much like his friend’s. That would have made him feel a bit more confident about going out in public right now. As he left the office, he barely missed Sherlock snickering behind his back before pushing off the chair and tugging his coat with him as he left as well. 

 

\---

When John got down to breakfast the next morning, he was feeling extremely relaxed and there was a content smile on his face. The night before he’d gone straight up to his room, had a nice wank and then fallen into a deep sleep. He’d also gotten more than 10 hours sleep, which mean 10 blissful hours without thinking about Sherlock Holmes and his gorgeous everything. Of course those ended when he walked into the living room to find said Sherlock Holmes in only a towel on the sofa with John’s laptop balancing on one knee. 

He was clearly fresh out of the shower. Droplets of water lingering on his bare torso, curls in one of those phases between drying and dripping, and also that damn towel. It was so small as well. John didn’t even know that they had towels that were that small. 

“What are you doing with my laptop?” John asked as he finally tore his eyes away and headed to the kitchen. He needed tea. 

“Mine is in my room. Couldn’t be bothered to get it,”

“You really should learn to be bothered to do that,”

“Also, your internet history is so much more interesting than mine,” Sherlock told him, making John freeze in his spot, hand on the kettle. No. Sherlock had to be referring to something else. He wiped his browser history. After every time, he wiped it.

“Why is mine interesting?” he asked, slowly turning to Sherlock. It might have been the worst choice he’d ever made, but it would be even more suspicious if he just kept having his back turned on Sherlock. 

“Because it is wiped, which is much like advertising the fact that you have something to hide. Of course, there are several ways of restoring it after you have wiped it,” Sherlock explained, apparently not phased in the slightest by the fact that John was positively fuming. How dared he? That was properly some invasion of privacy. “So now I am merely… engaging myself with some of your reading material. I’ve got to say, it is quite an interesting collection,” It sounded like Sherlock was just about to say something more, but his phone chimed with a text and cut him off. In a moment he was off the sofa, John’s laptop forgotten at the table as he rushed to get dressed. There wasn’t much to do for John than to abandon his tea and follow Sherlock to the new crime scene Lestrade had texted him about.

 

———

In the two days that the case was ongoing, there wasn’t any time to continue their conversation. Sherlock was more than immersed in it and John had enough with following him and making sure that he didn’t do something too stupid. This time they managed to keep perfectly safe, which was a welcome change, and there was nothing that required their immediate attention when they returned to 221B. In a way, that was very nice, being able to just sit down and relax for a bit. On the other hand John wouldn’t really have minded having something to busy himself with, even just to keep from sitting there with Sherlock as both of their minds drifted to the last conversation of their living room. As he was just about to go and at least make some tea, Sherlock spoke. 

“How do you want me?” His voice was just a tiny bit lower than normal, but John’s cheeks flushed from the connotation that sentence had earned to him in the last period of time. 

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t that what I am supposed to say? I didn’t have time go though all the stories, but that seemed to be the trend,” Sherlock had huffed lightly before he spoke, but towards the end his voice had turned silky once again. John swallowed, but didn’t say anything. This only earned him an eye roll from Sherlock. “You obviously like me bending over, so maybe over the kitchen table, the arm of the sofa or even on all fours would be preferable. I also rather liked the idea of doing it on the carpet in front of the fireplace, but I have a feeling I would end up with carpet burns,” 

Being a soldier had made John very good at thinking on his feet, finding solutions and dealing with situations quickly. This was not one of those situations. He had absolutely no idea what Sherlock was getting at. Except the obvious part. The sex. 

“You want us to-“

“Obviously, John,”

“Right then-“

“I say we go for me on all fours since we then can use the bed. The first time is supposed to be in a bed, is it not?”

 

———

They say that you should never get your expectations from porn. In a way, what John has been reading is basically porn. He really shouldn’t be surprised when it doesn’t turn out to be as he had expected it to. 

Just after Sherlock finished his question, he stepped up to John. Sherlock took a moment to seemingly just look at him and John waited, but then Sherlock spurred into action. Pressing forwards and capturing John’s lips, he kissed him as if in a hurry. It felt amazing though, and John wouldn’t have thought to complain. Especially not as Sherlock deepened the kiss and pulled him even closer. Even as it was just a kiss, it felt incredibly special. John briefly wondered whether it felt that way for Sherlock as well.

Making their way to bed, John was surprised to find that Sherlock mostly started stripping as soon as they parted from the kiss. While John himself is more used to the slow undressing of each other, it is clear that Sherlock has no such thing in mind. By the time they reach Sherlock’s bedroom, the man is down to his pants, the rest of his clothing strewn behind them as a trail of breadcrumbs. 

When John finished his own undressing and turned to the bed, Sherlock was already on all four, arse in the air towards John. If that isn’t eagerness, John hasn’t got a clue what is. Slowly getting on the bed together with him, slightly more interested in cherishing the moment, John finally touched him. It was Sherlock that stood for most of the touching as they kissed, but now John can trail a hand down Sherlock’s spine and watch as goosebumps break out. It’s a beautiful sight. A small tremor went through him and it made John smile for just a moment. 

“Did you like that?” he teased lightly, repeating the motion and watching the same happen again. He found that he wanted to do it forever. Want to make Sherlock shiver under his hands. Sherlock didn’t give him an answer, only pushed his hips back against him, hinting that he is very interested in the proceedings. “Stop that,” John told him softly, “we’ve got all night,”

With those final words he spread his hands over Sherlock’s hips, stroking lightly over that pale flesh. That too is absolutely beautiful. In front of him Sherlock made a small sound, seeming to melt under John’s hands, which is an absolute plus. Keeping one hand on Sherlock’s hip to steady him, John turned to the bedside table and returned with a condom and a small bottle of lube. They were in the first drawer, so it was hardly a science to find them, but boy if he is glad that he did. 

Starting by lubing up his fingers, John slowly pressed into Sherlock with one of them. It’s not until now he realized that they haven’t talked much about how much they have done of these things, but the way that Sherlock doesn’t even winch, but rather keens and pushes backwards against his finger, John concludes that it isn’t his first time at least. Giving in to Sherlock’s persistence of practically fucking himself on John’s finger, he adds a second one and then a third one shortly after. 

“Oh god, that’s- John…. Please,” Sherlock’s voice sounded slightly broken as he spoke, but with one look at the blissful expression on his face, John could easily conclude that nothing was wrong. 

“Are you ready, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, for god’s sake- Stop teasing!” Sherlock commanded and John could do nothing but laugh, because that is exactly the Sherlock that he knows so well. He doesn’t take long to prepare himself and soon enough he can slide inside, Sherlock being open from his preparation. As John slid fully into him and was able to lay against his back for a moment, catching his breath, he could practically hear the vibrations of Sherlock’s moan echo through him. “John… 

“Yes, Sherlock?” 

“Please… Please, move!” The slightly strained note in that Sherlock’s last work made it sound oddly urgent to John’s ears and before having time to have given it a second thought, he had pulled nearly the whole way out before plunging back inside of Sherlock. From the blissful cry sounding from in front of him, John was pretty sure that Sherlock was pleased with his moving. 

 

\---

While getting your expectations from porn might be a bad idea, picking up ideas may at times not be such a bad one. Not that porn was the only place John had gotten ideas from, of course, but when it came to Sherlock… It had certainly helped. In the aftermath of what had been a rather spectacular orgasm for both of them, with Sherlock barely taking any time to go off like a rocket and then very enthusiastically bringing John to his, they had taken the opportunity to curl up together. John hadn’t been entirely sure if that was something Sherlock would be open to, but he had gotten his answer when Sherlock had scooted over to him, practically curling around him. 

“Why do you always check my browser history?” 

“It is interesting. You are interesting. I’m just trying to understand you. Not that your recent tastes in reading material has made me come closer to doing that,”

“I should hope not,”


End file.
